Soup
by FortuneDP
Summary: Whitney would never see soup the same way again. Morty would only thank his good luck that she hadn't killed him on the spot.


**Soup**

Disclaimer: I do not own Pokémon.

* * *

Conversations filled the magnificent, ornate room as the members of the Johto League met for their annual dinner celebration. This year, it was held in a mansion belonging to the Champion, Lance, as nobody else had felt like taking up the responsibilities of hosting. A long table covered with a white tablecloth was the center of the room, with smaller tables set up along the sides of the walls. Dishes filled with luxurious foods had been laid along the smaller tables, while decorations like flowers had been placed on the central table where everyone was supposed to eat.

Glasses clinked merrily in the din, with liquids ranging from alcohol to carbonated water sloshing in the cups. Lance and Clair were seriously discussing the future of the Johto League, although their discussion was rapidly degenerating as others poked at their seriousness and forced them into other conversations.

Meanwhile, at the central table, Whitney was excitedly talking with Jasmine, squealing over several things ranging from boys to the newest pair of shoes that had just come out. Across from them, Morty was calmly eating a salad.

Almost everyone had dressed up for the occasion, but Morty still had his purple scarf wrapped around his neck. Several others also had trademark items still on hand, like Will with his mask and Chuck with his... dumbbells. As a thirty-pound dumbbell soared overhead after another "strength demonstration" by Chuck and Bruno, Morty smiled slightly as an idea struck him.

"... so, he was totally like, freaking out, right? And then I just got up there and told him to get out! It was great! Oh, and did you know that heels are great missiles? Yeah, like, totally..."

Whitney's rapid bombardment of speech directed towards Jasmine had, surprisingly, no effect on the Steel-type user. Jasmine politely nodded and added her own comments every now and then; Morty was somewhat amazed. He didn't really know either of the two very well, and blankly noted that girls liked to talk, based on Whitney's behavior.

Now, Morty didn't really know much about Whitney. Thus, he had no idea what would happen after he executed his plan, only thinking that the results could possibly be mildly amusing.

As Whitney turned to her bowl of soup, she screamed, loudly. Morty blinked as everyone immediately turned towards the commotion; several people jogged over to the table.

"Whitney?" asked Jasmine concernedly. "What's wrong?"

"There... There's a face in my soup!" Whitney screamed, pointing at the eerie eyes and mouth staring up at her. "GO AWAY!"

And with that, she viciously poked the Gastly, for the face belonged to a Gastly, in its poor eye, causing it to recoil in pain and curse Morty for forcing it to do such a thing as invade Whitney's soup. As the face faded away (or withdrew back under the table), the soup resumed its normal, faceless features, innocently reflecting nothing but what was above it.

"Oops," commented Morty, shrugging as he recalled his Pokémon. "Sorry. My name's Morty. You?"

Seeing as there really was no trouble, everyone drifted off. Jasmine stayed behind and shrank slightly as Whitney seemed to grow in volume.

"Oh, _hello_, Morty," hissed Whitney, eyes livid as she glared at the bored-looking man across from her. "How are _you_ today? Because your evening is just going to go _downhill_ from here!"

"Whitney, calm down," said Jasmine consolingly. "Morty just has a hard time expressing his feelings and doesn't really know how to talk with people."

"Thanks," he said dryly. "You make me sound antisocial."

"It's true."

"Yeah, I guess."

"He just sits in his Gym and trains every day, hoping to catch some god or something." Jasmine sighed. "It's a shame that Ho-Oh was caught by someone else."

Morty irritably flicked a corn kernel at her. "Thanks for rubbing it in."

"See, once you get to know him," said Jasmine cheerfully, deflecting the kernel with deadly skill, "he's not that bad! Whitney, you talk with Morty for a while. Okay? I'll come back and we can chat later."

The Steel-type specialist stood up, dusted off her dress, and went off to find some more drinks. Whitney puffed her cheeks and pushed her defiled soup aside, getting up to find more food that hadn't been infected by ghosts.

When Whitney sat back down at the table, Morty had moved on from his salad to Whitney's soup.

"Hey, that was mine!" she said, highly affronted. "You don't just steal people's food like that! It's rude!"

Morty shrugged and continued to spoon soup into his mouth. "You didn't want it."

"So?"

"So it would have gone to waste."

Whitney blinked and snorted, coming up with no counterargument. "Why did you introduce yourself earlier?" she suddenly asked, sliding a piece of chicken off a wooden kebab and then jabbing the kebab in Morty's general direction. "It's not like we've never met before."

"I don't know either," said Morty, sounding slightly bemused himself. "Maybe I just didn't think."

For nearly ten minutes, they sat in silence, Morty sipping what used to be Whitney's soup and Whitney viciously tearing at a beefsteak (one would think that, considering that her most precious Pokémon was a cow, Whitney would avoid beef).

Finally, Whitney burst out with a barrage of questions.

"Why did you put a Gastly in my soup? Why do you like purple so much? Why are you wearing a scarf when it's about a hundred degrees? Why are you blond? Do you like the soup?"

Morty tilted his head, clueless. "I was bored. It's nice. It's not a hundred degrees, it's ten. My parents were blond. Yes."

"Oh. Okay."

Morty was mildly impressed by Whitney's comprehension skills. Then again, she might not have understood a single thing either of them had just said.

"Being bored is no reason to scare someone like that," scolded Whitney. "What if I had a seizure or a heart attack?" A large glass vase crashed suddenly behind Whitney, but she was so angry that she didn't even notice.

Morty blinked and realized that Whitney at least comprehended his first response. "Oh. I'd be sorry. And I'd come visit your grave every day as repentance."

"Hey, who said I would die?" shrieked Whitney. "Gosh, overreacting much?"

"... I wouldn't be talking if I were you."

"Well, you're not. So you think purple is nice?"

Morty quirked an eyebrow; she had comprehended more than just his first answer. "Yes. It complements my hair. I learned about the color wheel when I was six."

"Ah. Cool. I like pink."

"I couldn't tell."

Morty gestured towards her pink dress, pink lipstick, pink hair-clips, and pink nails.

"Honestly, I would never have guessed."

"Ha ha," Whitney said sarcastically. "Is it really ten degrees? Maybe that's why I'm so cold..."

Morty felt his mouth twitch slightly as she responded to yet another one of his answers. "It's ten degrees outside. I'll give you my jacket later." As if to emphasize the point, snow suddenly whipped past the windows.

"Oh, thanks," said Whitney, smiling. "Your parents were blond?"

Morty nodded and half-smiled as they neared the end of Whitney's questions and his answers. "Yes. The allele for blond hair is recessive, so my parents needed to either be heterozygous or homozygous for the gene. In my case, they were both homozygous, so I was guaranteed blond hair."

"I see," Whitney said, nodding wisely. "And you like the soup? Well, I'm glad I gave it up after your Gastly floated into it." Whitney glared at him over her bread.

Finally, Morty laughed. Whitney looked so startled that he laughed more. "Yes, I'm enjoying the soup," he said, smiling. "And I'm sorry for scaring you earlier."

"You'd better be! One time, this girl scared me and then, as my revenge..."

Morty leaned back, expecting something like, "I took her sandwich!"

Instead, Whitney laughed and said, "I burnt her hair off! But I forgot to put the fire out..."

"Lovely," Morty said hastily, interrupting quickly before the story turned gory. "Well, it was nice talking to you, Miss Whitney. I believe it is time to go."

Everyone around them was pulling on coats and gloves, as the clocks chimed midnight. Whitney seemed surprised.

"Really? Where does the time go? Alright, let me just put these plates back..."

Morty pulled his purple coat off the coat rack and waited patiently for Whitney; once she walked into the foyer, he offered his coat to her.

"Oh, I didn't think you were serious!" said Whitney, laughing. "No, I'm fine!"

"It's snowing. Take it."

"Won't you be cold?"

"I'll be fine."

Whitney smiled and took the coat, slipping it on. "Thanks a lot. I'll get this back to you some day."

Morty shrugged. "Just keep it."

As they left the house, the moon shined slowly behind the clouds and snow.

"Hey, Whitney," Morty said slowly as she tugged his coat around herself tighter.

"Yeah?"

"Would you like to talk again sometime? We could meet in Goldenrod or Ecruteak someday."

"Sounds fun!" said Whitney. "I'll call you, I've got your number."

Whitney quieted for a moment before quickly kissing him on the cheek. She waved good-bye and walked away, leaving Morty standing pensively in the driveway.

The smallest tint of pink dusted Morty's cheeks, but he easily passed it off as the cold.

After all, he had given his jacket to Whitney.


End file.
